Wrapped in a matchbox, held so tight,
Creating friction, ready to ignite.
A child of chaos, a deadly breath,
Always standing on the edge of death.
Ready to burn, ready to slay—
It's not a joke, not a child's play.
A pop, a bang—it hits the floor,
Phantom smoke and a sinister odor.
Grey and white, thick and strong,
Trapped in a room where shadows belong.
It bursts with rage, it burns the eyes—
A beauty so rare, a beast in disguise.